


Home Entertainment System

by EmilyNorth



Category: Harry Potter - J. K. Rowling
Genre: Masturbation, Multi, Sex Tapes, Threesome - F/M/M, Voyeurism
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2020-09-26
Updated: 2020-09-26
Packaged: 2021-03-08 02:01:55
Rating: Explicit
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 11,646
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/26657839
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/EmilyNorth/pseuds/EmilyNorth
Summary: Piling three pillows, the comforter, the blanket, and all the towels Hermione had given him  on top of his head nearly made Draco suffocate, but they didn’t block the sound of Blaise and Hermione having sex in the next room.If Draco had to listen to them much longer, he knew he might start preferring suffocation.Draco stays with Blaise and Hermione. Shenanigans ensue. Originally written back in 2004.
Relationships: Draco Malfoy/Blaise Zabini, Hermione Granger/Blaise Zabini, Hermione Granger/Draco Malfoy/Blaise Zabini
Comments: 10
Kudos: 103





	Home Entertainment System

**Author's Note:**

> A/N: I think this might be the first Draco/Hermione/Blaise story I ever wrote--way, way back in 2004 when canon only extended to the end of book 5. So the usual disclaimers apply--we didn't know much about Blaise then, so I made stuff up. I had no idea what was going to happen in HBP and DH, so none of those events happened in this version of the world. No Vanishing Cabinet, no horcrux hunt, no torture at Malfoy Manor, etc. Updating this to make the backstory fit canon would have taken major reworking and I'm...well...lazy, so I didn't.
> 
> If you're here just for the smut, you can start after the first ~*~*~*~. Everything prior to that is basically setting up the characters and explaining the backstory for how Hermione and Blaise got together, and how Draco feels about them. All you need to know is that he and Blaise used to be friends with benefits, and when Blaise started dating Hermione at Hogwarts, Draco realized he was in love with her himself--but never said anything, figuring he'd already blown his chance and wanting the two of them to be happy. Now, he's staying with them temporarily and is trying really hard to behave even though he can hear them having sex in the room next to his.

_Yessss, baby, just like that. Oh, you feel so good…_

Jamming a pillow on top of his head didn’t work. 

_You like that, don’t you? Like it when I put my fingers there? Show me how much you like it._

Neither did two pillows. 

_Is this what you want? Do you want it bad? Beg me for it. Come on, baby, you know I love it when you beg._

Neither did three pillows, the comforter, the blanket, and the towels Hermione had left in the room in case he wanted to take a shower before bed. Piling all of these things on top of his head nearly made Draco suffocate, but they didn’t block the sound of Blaise and Hermione having sex in the next room. 

_Scoot back just a little, love. Trust me, you’ll like it; just let me…mmm, I **told** you you’d like it._

If Draco had to listen to them much longer, he knew he might start preferring suffocation. 

He hadn’t even considered the possibility of this happening when Blaise invited him to stay in their guest room for the month while Malfoy manor was exorcised. He’d needed a place to stay and it hadn’t seemed worthwhile to rent a place of his own in town for just a month, so he’d jumped on Blaise’s offer. Draco brightened slightly as he thought about it. If you looked at it that way, you could almost say it was his father’s fault he was in this situation. If Lucius hadn’t been such an evil bastard with a kink for dark artifacts, Malfoy manor wouldn’t have become so overrun with the nasty things that Draco voluntarily turned it over to the ministry for a month so they could get rid of all traces of the dark taint in the house. If it weren’t for him, Draco would be fast asleep in his king-sized bed in the perfect silence of the manor instead of squished into a double bed in the guest room of his best mate’s flat, listening to said best mate shag his wife.

Draco smiled in satisfaction. He liked it when he could blame things on Lucius. It had a nice, liberating effect on the boy who had learned from a very young age that Father Is Always Right—and that suggesting otherwise led to unpleasant consequences. Now, he blamed Lucius for things all the time, just because he could. It was almost like a game, twisting things to blame them on Daddy Dearest. If he thought about anything hard enough, he could usually come up with a semi-plausible reason why it could be blamed on Lucius. It was all a question of creative logic. He blamed Lucius for bad weather. He blamed Lucius when the waitress at the Leaky Cauldron got his lunch order wrong. He blamed Lucius when the house elves forgot to polish his shoes, or when Puddlemere United lost a match, or when he couldn’t remember where he had put his watch. 

And most of all, he blamed Lucius for the fact that Hermione Granger had fallen in love with Blaise Zabini, and not him.

If he hadn’t been so brainwashed by Lucius into thinking that muggles and muggleborns were lower than dirt, then he might have recognized his attraction to the bushy-haired witch years sooner. He wouldn’t have wasted all that time ridiculing her because he didn’t understand the way she made him feel, or picking on her friends because he was jealous of the attention she gave them, or hurting her every way that he could so he could prove to himself that he could make her hurt, like she made him ache. If he hadn’t been so blinded by his belief that he couldn’t possibly be attracted to a muggleborn since there was clearly _nothing_ attractive about anyone so low and despicable, then he might have stood some chance at making her care for him, someday, the way that he cared for her.

As it was, Blaise got there first. Draco and Blaise had turned against the Death Eaters at the same time, on the same day in the spring of their sixth year, after a ministry raid made it suddenly, blindingly clear to both of them that they were on the losing side, and that everything their parents had told them about the superiority and invincibility of purebloods in general and Death Eaters in particular was a lie. Blaise was luckier than Draco. The changeover was easier for him. His family existed in the background. The Zabinis were wealthy enough to fit in without being wealthy enough to stand out, pedigreed enough to be respectable without being illustrious, and supportive enough of the Death Eaters not to earn Voldemort’s wrath without being fervent enough to earn his attention. Blaise, in the grand tradition of his family, blended in with the background. He was a competent but mostly unremarkable student. He was athletic enough to be able to defend himself without being competitive enough to place him in the spotlight. His handsome features were hidden behind shaggy hair and his well-formed body was disguised with baggy robes. 

He gave no one any reason to notice him—and in the maelstrom of hormones, nerves, emotional outbursts, and constant battles between Good and Evil that defined the natural state of affairs at Hogwarts, he was very easily overlooked. There were only a handful of students who had any strong memory of him at all, and of those students, only Draco Malfoy could actually be considered a friend. The two boys had bonded at the age of six when they had hidden in the library to escape from Pansy Parkinson’s birthday party, which they both had been forced to attend. Draco had been his first friend. Later, when they were twelve years old, Draco had been his first kiss. When they were thirteen and feeling experimental, Draco had been the first one to see Blaise without clothes, to touch him and tell him he was beautiful. Their physical relationship was non-exclusive and based on trust and affection more than lust, but the connection Blaise had with Draco was one of the constants in his life. When he stepped into a room and everyone’s eyes scanned right past him, Blaise took a certain comfort in the knowledge that Draco not only knew he was there but was glad of it. 

Outside of Draco, however, no one ever really made an effort to get to know the dark-haired boy. Blaise seemed to prefer it that way. His obscurity kept him out of the line of fire. Also, when you decide to change sides, it’s helpful if no one has a clear memory of what side you were on in the first place. As long as Blaise didn’t charm his robes to recite Order of the Phoenix propaganda while he walked through the halls, no one would really notice if he sided against the Death Eaters.

Draco, however, was the son and sole heir of one of wizarding England’s most visible, powerful, influential and detested members of society, as well as one of Voldemort’s most ardent supporter. As Lucius Malfoy’s son, Draco would not have been able to avoid drawing attention to himself even if he had wanted to. In truth, he’d never tried. As an eleven-year-old Hogwarts first year basking in the notoriety his name carried, it never occurred to Draco that it might be wiser to find ways to blend in instead of standing out. He did everything he could to draw attention to himself. He was seeker on the Quidditch team, one of the highest-ranking students in his class, and one of the biggest bullies in the school. If a day went by when he didn’t make a big show of taking potshots at some Gryffindor, particularly the Golden Trio, people asked him if he was feeling unwell. 

His every action was on display, not only to the gossip-hungry students at Hogwarts who watched him eagerly to see any crack in the façade, but also his obsessive-compulsive father. Lucius watched Draco like a hawk to make sure the boy did nothing to cast the slightest of shadows on what Lucius saw as the Malfoy reputation, and he made his displeasure very clearly felt if Draco showed any signs of placing so much as a toe out of line. There was no way for Draco, in a quiet and unobserved manner, to switch sides in the war. There was no way for Draco, in a quiet and unobserved manner, to blow his nose, or brush his teeth, or use the toilet. Everything he did was under constant scrutiny by hero-worshipping Slytherins, suspicious Ravenclaws, paranoid Hufflepuffs, hex-happy Gryffindors, and automatically distrusting professors. 

That Draco would be a Death Eater of power, influence, and notoriety was a foregone conclusion. Voldemort, in his determination to make his rise to power as fast and incontestable as possible, grabbed feverishly at every intelligent, well-born wizard or witch he could find. With Lucius locked away in Azkaban, promoting his son to his position seemed to the Dark Lord to be the most logical step. Draco was, therefore, initiated the summer after he turned sixteen, just weeks after his father’s arrest. They had poured drugged wine down his throat and pushed and pulled him through the motions until he was an official Death Eater with no clear memory of the event, at all. His promotion through the ranks was automatic and he was placed almost instantly in the very heart of Death Eater affairs. 

When Blaise and Draco turned themselves over to Dumbledore, saying they wished to desert the dark side of the war, Dumbledore told them how they could make themselves of use. Blaise would be valuable working among the students to recruit quietly inside Slytherin House. Everyone knew that the battle would come to Hogwarts sooner or later, and the headmaster was working with all the houses to try and coordinate a system of defense. A reliable supporter from Slytherin was a boon, and Blaise was put to work immediately. His ties to the Death Eaters were cut quickly and without hesitation. For him, that period in his life was over.

Draco, on the other hand, was far more valuable to the Order of the Phoenix inside the Death Eater camp, working as a double agent. Snape was the most connected spy they had, and even he had fallen into disfavor in recent times. They needed someone in Voldemort’s inner circle to report back to the Order. The task fell to Draco. So, Draco underwent intensive and often damaging training in the delicate art of double agentry. And while he dealt with the pains and aggravations of life as a Death Eater (enduring Cruciatus repeatedly just because Voldemort was in a pissy mood, kneeling in the dirt for interminable hours during deathly dull meetings, being quietly feared and openly despised by nearly all the students and professors at Hogwarts for his supposed loyalties), Blaise stayed safe and sound in Hogwarts and developed a particularly close relationship with a certain bushy-haired witch.

Each house had a student who served as the unofficial liaison to the Order of the Phoenix. Starting near the end of Blaise’s sixth year, each of these students were trained to monitor the leanings of all the students within his or her house, help in whatever manner they could to subtly train and support those who sided with the Ministry and the Order, and influence the undecideds. While they had scheduled meetings with Dumbledore to go over their cumulative progress, they also met with each other at regular intervals to discuss methods and progress and compare notes. Unsurprisingly, Hermione Granger was Gryffindor’s representative. The Boy Who Lived may have been the more visible figurehead from the house, but everyone knew the muggleborn girl had always been the brains behind that particular operation. Harry was excellent for the actual fighting, but the planning was always handled by Hermione. Susan Bones represented Hufflepuff and Terry Boot spoke for Ravenclaw. Blaise was the best candidate for Slytherin both for his ability to subtly influence his housemates and for his generally inoffensive nature. He was one of the few Slytherins who could sit in a room with a Gryffindor, a Hufflepuff, and a Ravenclaw without the supervision of any professor and not start a fight. 

The four developed a strong working relationship at the end of the term and continued to correspond through owl post throughout the summer. The meetings recommenced in greater earnest when the beginning of their seventh year rolled around. Everyone was certain that something would happen that year, but no one knew when. It was best to make sure everyone was as prepared as possible. As the meetings increased, the initial cordiality between the four representatives evolved into firm friendship. They all grew to like and trust each other as individuals, instead of just as allies. Not surprisingly, it wasn’t long until Hermione and Blaise developed into something more. 

The four students met in the common room attached to Hermione’s Head Girl suite, and Blaise developed the habit of sticking around after the meetings to talk some more with Hermione, or study with her, or simply enjoy her company while they worked on separate things. He made his attraction to her very clear, and her shy response was all the encouragement he needed. By Halloween, their after-meeting sessions involved a lot less books and conversation and a lot more warm lips, roving hands, and panted breaths. They kept their relationship fairly quiet, not wanting to draw any attention, but they took no great pains to hide it, especially from their trusted friends. To Hermione’s relief, Harry and Ron approved. To Hermione and Blaise’s mutual pleasure, Terry and Susan not only approved, but actually followed their cue and began dating, themselves. The one fly in the ointment was Draco.

When Blaise broke the news to his oldest and best friend, Draco responded by throwing a tantrum the likes of which Blaise hadn’t seen since Draco was in short robes. Blaise knew the history between his girlfriend and best friend and had expected Draco to be against the idea, but he certainly hadn’t expected that strong of a reaction. To be honest, Draco had been a little surprised himself at how outraged the idea made him. Yes, a girl of Granger’s heritage was beneath his friend, but Draco had a shrewd sensibility that told him she was a valuable ally to have both for her brains and ability and for her connections to potentially influential people. While her birth was unchangeable, she would, no doubt, have both position and influence when the war was over, and Draco was enough of a strategist to appreciate that. From a practical point of view, he knew it was a wise match. From a less practical point of view, it was a match that made Blaise happier than Draco had ever seen him. So why couldn’t he be pleased for his friend? 

It wasn’t until he went to his weekly Occlumency lesson with Snape (required, of course, for his spying work) that he figured out why the new couple had him so hot and bothered. Draco had developed quite quickly in Occlumency (helped, no doubt, by the fact that Snape actually _wanted_ him to succeed) but on that day, he was so distracted that Snape was able to break through his defenses distressingly easily. He took one look inside Draco’s head, sighed sadly, and put down his wand. He then proceeded to pour each of them a drink while he told Draco about the passionate hatred he had felt for a witch named Matilda Leonis when he was a student. He described in detail the way he had treated her, how he had tormented her on every possible occasion, taking a fierce pleasure in making her cry and believing all the while that a hatred for her background and heritage was the rationale behind his treatment. 

Then the girl became romantically involved with Sirius Black. Snape told Draco that the first time he saw the two of them walk into the Great Hall holding hands, he’d felt like he’d taken a bludger to the stomach. He had always hated Black, but he had never envied him before. The jealousy and fierce desire to _be_ Black for just one day forced him to realize his true feelings for the beautiful girl. He’d wanted her all along—and had been too much of a coward to admit it, even to himself. When the insidious voice of Antonin Dolohov whispered in his ear, telling him that if he became a Death Eater he would be respected, feared, and obeyed, and that everything he had ever craved and been denied would belong to him, Snape had found it surprisingly easy to give in. 

When Snape finished his story, he stood, telling Draco that he could stay in the office as long as he liked to think things over. Draco sat there with a drink in his hand, staring unseeingly at the fireplace flames while he thought about what Snape had said. Snape’s words had been like a catalyst that fit the puzzle pieces together. He wasn’t upset that Blaise had “lowered” himself to love a mudblood; instead, in his heart of hearts, he was upset that Blaise had gotten there first, and managed to be loved by that particular mudblood, in return. Hermione Granger was everything he had never allowed himself to admit he had always wanted. And now she was taken. By his best friend. 

Draco stayed there, staring into the fireplace, for a very, very long time. If it had been anyone but Blaise, it wouldn’t have hurt so badly. But if it had been anyone but Blaise, he wouldn’t have had the courage or the strength of mind to do what he knew needed to be done.

His objections to the relationship came to a complete stop after that. On the surface, he was everything a supportive best friend should be. He helped Blaise pick out presents for Hermione and listened patiently while Blaise waxed rhapsodic about all her charms for hours on end. He gave advice on how to make it up to her when they had their inevitable spats, and he was understanding when Blaise begged off of pick-up Quidditch matches or chess games to spend time with his girlfriend. The first time Blaise spent all night in the Head Girl’s room, not returning to the Slytherin dormitory until just before dawn with his clothes haphazardly fastened and a blissful smile on his face, Draco hid his seething jealousy and broken heart and covered for him, charming his bed into an appropriate appearance for bed check and keeping him from drifting into sleep or daydreams during class that day. 

He fought by their side when the final battle came, largely ignoring the instructions he had been given and focusing instead on guarding both of them as best he could. Blaise took an injury that knocked him out, and Hermione forgot all about protecting herself as she rushed over to revive him. If Draco hadn’t followed immediately behind her, acting as a human shield between her and anyone who tried to attack her, she would have been killed while she fussed over Blaise. Draco ended up with a six-inch scar on his stomach and a medal for bravery, but the only thing that mattered to him was the gratitude lighting up Hermione’s eyes as she thanked him for saving their lives when he woke in the infirmary a week later. 

He was best man at their wedding, standing next to Blaise as Hermione walked toward them down the aisle, her beautiful face radiant with happiness. He stood there with a smile fixed on his face, showing no signs of his internal despair as the two of them promised to love and cherish each other for the rest of their lives. And at the reception, he shook Blaise’s hand and kissed Hermione on the cheek, wished them both well, and then headed to the nearest bar he could find so he could get spectacularly drunk.

He was awakened in the morning by the tap of an owl at the window of his hotel room. Battling against his splitting headache and detangling himself from the seedy brunette who had wrapped herself around him, he managed to open the window and extract the post with minimal exposure to the painful sunlight. The note, an offer for him to take an apprenticeship under a well-respected Charms professor in New Zealand, wiped away the hangover as if by magic. It was just the opportunity he was looking for. Maybe a year away from the ridiculously happy newlyweds would allow him to get over this ridiculous fixation on his best friend’s wife. And even if he couldn’t get over his feelings, at least the honeymoon haze would wear off before he got back.

No such luck. When he returned a year later, Blaise and Hermione were, if possible, even more in love than they had been when he left. Likewise, Draco’s feelings for Hermione—despite the swath he cut through the population of witches in New Zealand to try and drive her out of his mind—remained unchanged. That was bad enough. Going home to the manor to discover just what a mess of it Lucius had made was worse. Turning the place over to the Aurors for exorcism and purification and crashing in Blaise and Hermione’s spare bedroom was a minor version of hell. But lying there in bed alone while he listened to them fuck on the other side of the wall was quite simply more than he could take. He was a strong man, but even strong men have their limits.

He’d leave in the morning, he decided. He’d tell them he wanted to be closer to the manor to supervise the Aurors, or that he was suddenly allergic to cats (Hermione’s part-kneazle had recently fathered surprisingly cute kittens, which had been left on their doorstep), or that he had caught a rare New Zealand disease that prohibited him from sharing a living space with anyone whose name contained the letter Z. He’d tell them anything, _anything_ so long as it meant that he didn’t have to put up with another night of listening to them make love. Great Merlin, did they have to be so _loud_? Would it kill them to use a silencing spell? They knew perfectly well he couldn’t do it himself; the security spells on their apartment prevented anyone but them from casting spells. In order to adjust the wards to accept his magic, they had to soak his wand in a potion that took all day to simmer. Hermione had started the potion, but it wouldn’t be ready till morning. Fat lot of good it would do him to be able to cast a silencing charm on his room in the _morning_.

He felt like he was burning up. Hermione had that effect on him. Seeing a picture of her or reading one of her letters was enough to make him feel warm all over. Seeing her in person or hearing her voice shot his body temperature up a few more notches, bringing him as close as a Malfoy could get to blushing. Just the knowledge that she was in a bed wearing minimal clothing on the other side of a thin wall would have been enough to make him start to sweat. But to listen to her moaning and begging, to hear the unmistakable sounds of _very_ enthusiastic lovemaking, to listen to her orgasm, over and over again… Draco had kicked off all the covers and blankets on the bed, stripped down to his boxers, and taken two cold showers already that evening, but he still felt like he was being boiled alive. Hermione just made him too darn hot.

With a muttered curse, he flung himself out of bed. Cold showers hadn’t worked to cool his…ardor…but maybe he could find something to distract himself. He had noted earlier that evening that the living room had an entire wall of bookcases, including a much-loved copy of _Hogwarts, A History_. It had always worked for his insomnia when he was a child; maybe it would work again. Besides, the living room was all the way down the hall. Hopefully the increased distance would muffle some of the noise. 

~*~*~*~

He didn’t bother to throw on any more clothes before exiting his room. His skin was tingling to the point where he didn’t think he could bear putting anything over it, and besides, Hermione and Blaise were far too busy in their bedroom to notice an under-dressed houseguest wandering through the apartment. Draco stumbled into the living room and fumbled with the knob on the wall to turn on the ekletricity, just as Hermione and Blaise had shown him earlier. In the sudden burst of light, his eyes fell on the large screen telefision they had shown him earlier. Apparently, Hermione had bought Blaise a recording something-or-other (hamcorder? kamkorsher? Blast those ridiculous muggle names that never made any sense) for his birthday, and the dark haired Slytherin had become obsessed with the damn thing. He taped everything under the sun, up to and including a pick-up Quidditch game at the Ministry a few weeks back during lunch break on a particularly nice day. 

Several former Slytherins had joined in the match, and Blaise had put the tape in after dinner to show Draco how their old housemates were doing. It was probably still in or near the tape player—and it would be the ideal diversion to take his mind off of the activities in the master bedroom. After all, a book couldn’t make noise to drown out the sounds he could still hear clearly, even though he was now a whole hallway away. Draco concentrated, trying to remember what Blaise had said about turning the player and the telly-thingy on. A recording of Quidditch should take his mind off of the thought of Hermione’s beautiful body, covered in a sheen of sweat and saliva and sexual juices, her eyes heavy lidded with desire, her legs widely spread and… 

Draco cleared his throat. Quidditch. Yes. Quidditch. He’d watch the Quidditch match until the blasted lovers wore themselves out and went to sleep like decent people. Then he’d pack his things and grab a few hours’ sleep before leaving in the morning.

Draco tinkered with the player box, pushing the appropriate buttons and growling in frustration when nothing happened. He fiddled with it for nearly a quarter of an hour before his eye caught on the recording-holding box (had they called it a tape? Yes, he was fairly certain they had. It did not in the least resemble any adhesive he had ever heard of, but Blaise seemed quite certain that it was, indeed, called a tape) sitting on top of the player box and it finally clicked. They must have taken the tape out before, and now he had to put it back in. It took a few tries, but the tape finally slid into the slot. With a sigh of relief, Draco pushed the right arrow button that he remembered got the recording to start, and then he settled himself on the couch. 

The image was fuzzy at first, just as Draco remembered. Blaise had told him that he always had a bit of trouble getting the thing to focus, especially in an environment with lots of magical wards. Something about the magic clashing with ekletricity and a modifying charm Hermione had invented. Hermione had been clearing the table while Blaise explained, and he’d been able to see just a bit down the front of her v-neck robes when she bent over. He’d been far more interested in that than in Blaise’s explanation. But he caught enough to know that the initial blurriness was normal. 

Finally, the fuzziness started to fade, and the screen cleared. Draco started in surprise when the image resolved to show not the back lawn of the Ministry, but Hermione, facing the camera, in the bedroom she shared with Blaise. She was seated on the very center of the bed with her legs tucked up against her chest and her chin resting on her knees. Draco might have smiled at how innocent and childlike she looked but instead his mouth went dry at the realization that, while everything scandalous was hidden behind her legs, she was completely naked. Draco moaned softly as the erection that had softened while he figured out the tape and the tape player box sprang back to life with a vengeance.

“Love, do you need a hand with that?” Hermione-on-the-screen offered, smiling slightly.

“Don’t you dare get off that bed,” Blaise’s voice replied. “I’ve nearly got it. Besides, what did I tell you that you were supposed to be doing with your hands?”

Hermione flashed the camera a wicked smile. “I didn’t want to get started before you were ready. After all, what’s the use in putting on a show if there’s no one to watch?” 

Draco had frozen with shock at the sight of naked-and-nearly-exposed Hermione, but at this point, his brain started working again. He knew fully well what he was looking at. He had heard talk about the muggle version of recorded pornography. It wasn’t a concept that was limited to muggles. The wizarding world might not have had VPRs, or whatever they were called, but they did have some very appealing moving picture magazines sold from behind the counter to adult wizards, only. Greg Goyle had, in fact, been outed to the rest of Slytherin in the middle of sixth year when Draco went through his trunk to find a spare quill and found, instead, the boy’s collection of _Toy Broomsticks_ magazines, featuring some very interesting male-on-male moving picture action. 

This muggle wideo was, Draco had to admit, a massive improvement on the wizarding version. In addition to moving pictures, it had sound, and a rewind/fast-forward function and Hermione… Merlin, the thought of watching Hermione do some of the things he had fantasized about for years made Draco so hard that he no more could have crossed the room to press stop than he could have stood on his head while singing “God Save the Queen.” He told himself that he’d just take a few seconds to calm down, and then he’d turn it off and find the Quidditch tape. He wouldn’t watch it. Of _course_ he wouldn’t watch it. He’d just leave it on for the next few seconds since there was no immediately practicable way for him to turn it off. Surely, they wouldn’t be able to get too far in just a few seconds.

Blaise chuckled, a low, deep sound that sent a shiver up Draco’s spine. “Well, it’s all set now, so I think we’re ready to begin. Now, what did I tell you to do with your hands?”

“I don’t remember,” Hermione answered with a mock-innocent expression on her face. “Maybe you’d better remind me.”

“All right, princess,” Blaise replied, and Draco could hear the smirk in his voice. “Start by sucking your fingers.”

Hermione winked at the camera before letting her tongue slide out of her mouth, licking her lips slowly and deliberately, then raising her right hand to her mouth. She ran her tongue over her index finger, licking it up, down, and sideways, swirling her tongue around it until it was thoroughly wet before sliding it fully into her mouth, hollowing her cheeks as she sucked on it firmly. After a few moments, she added her middle finger, and then her ring finger, sucking on all three with unswerving enthusiasm.

“Nice, baby,” Blaise praised, his voice husky and clearly aroused. “Very, very nice. Now, take them out of your mouth and start sliding them down.”

Hermione batted her eyelashes as him as she pulled the fingers out of her mouth, pursing her lips and playing her fingertips over them for a few seconds before sliding her glistening fingers to her chin and then, tilting her head back, down her neck.

“Should I stop here?” she asked playfully, circling her fingers around the hollow of her throat.

“Keep going.”

Hermione slid her fingers down past her collarbone, lowering her right leg so that the camera had a clear view of the fingers slipping down the center of her chest. Draco gasped as the slim, beautiful leg slid away, revealing a perfect breast, smooth skin, a slim waist, beautifully rounded hips and just a teasing hint of dark curls still mostly hidden between her thighs. “Should I stop here?” she asked again when her fingers lay in the valley between her breasts.

“Keep going.” Blaise’s voice was getting husky, and Draco couldn’t blame him. He was having difficulty breathing, himself.

Hermione’s hand slid over instead of down, trailing over to the center of her breast where the wet fingertips circled her nipple. Hermione gasped softly and closed her eyes in pleasure as she allowed her fingertips to graze and tease her swollen nipple. Her soft sound of pleasure made Draco’s cock jerk painfully against the front of his boxers, and his hand automatically slipped beneath the waistband to pull his erection out. He knew this was wrong and dishonorable and an unforgivable violation of Hermione’s privacy and Draco’s own friendship with Blaise…but he was being shown something he had ached to see for so very long, and he couldn’t bring himself to stop.

“Do you like that, love? Does it feel good touching yourself, knowing that I’m watching you? Knowing that I’m _wanting_ you?”

Hermione’s eyes opened partially, heavy lidded with lust and pleasure. “Feels good, but not as good as you. Wish it was you, touching me, tasting me. Wish I could feel your fingers on my nipple—your tongue, your teeth—sucking on it, nibbling it, feeling it harden in your mouth while I whisper in your ear…”

“Temptress,” Blaise growled.

“Am I?” Hermione teased, giving him a wicked smirk that made Draco gasp with pleasure. He’d never seen her smirk like that, and it was absolutely irresistible.

“You know you are,” Blaise purred. “You know that I can’t take my eyes of you, can’t get enough of you. You’re so gorgeous, so sexy, so seductive and erotic. And you’re _mine_. All mine.”

“Yes!” Hermione cried out, her hips thrusting forward instinctively as she shivered with pleasure at Blaise’s declaration. She took a few shaking breaths before she was able to open her eyes again. “All yours, Blaise. I love you.” 

“Love you too, princess. So much.”

“Show me how much?” she asked, hopefully.

Blaise chuckled. “Not just yet, baby. Finish your show, first. I want to watch you play with yourself.” 

Hermione pouted adorably. “I’d rather play with you.”

“Be good, baby, and once this is done, I’ll let you play with anything you want.”

“I can be good,” Hermione replied, widening her eyes into a playfully “innocent” looking expression. “I can be _very_ good. Just tell me what you want me to do and you’ll see how good I can be.”

“You’ll obey my instructions?” Blaise teased. “Do exactly as I say?”

“Oh yes, I _love_ obeying instructions,” Hermione replied, her eyes sparkling in a manner that was so seductively naughty while also hauntingly reminiscent of the innocent, naive, know-it-all student of their school days that Draco shuddered with pleasure. “I’m a very good student, you know. I thrive on following directions.”

“For now, love, just keep doing what you’re doing.” Hermione’s innocent expression gave way to a slow, seductive grin as she continued playing with her breast. 

“While that hand is busy,” Blaise instructed, “start sucking the fingers on your other hand.” Raising her left hand to her mouth, Hermione blew her husband a kiss before repeating her previous ritual of lubricating and caressing her fingers. Her other hand, meanwhile, had grown more bold. It no longer teased her nipple, but openly rolled and pinched it while squeezing and groping the soft, yielding flesh of her breast. 

Draco gave up all pretense of not participating and began mimicking her movements. He lifted his hand off his crotch, sliding those fingers into his mouth where he could taste the sticky beginnings of his arousal and imagine that it was her he was tasting, instead. He didn’t dare let his hand drift back to his throbbing erection. He was so turned on, he knew it wouldn’t take much more than a touch to set him off, and he wanted to hold back so he could come when she did. The other hand slid over his chest, circling the firm muscles and zeroing in on his tight, throbbing nipples, tweaking them with trembling fingers while he kept his eyes glued to the screen. 

“Tsk, tsk, tsk,” Blaise scolded playfully, “it looks like your right hand has gone dry. Slide those fingers between your lips until they’re wet again.”

“Like this, lover?” Hermione asked as she pulled the fingers from her left hand out of her mouth and raised her right hand to replace them. Just when the fingers reached her mouth, Blaise interrupted her again.

“Those weren’t the lips I meant, love.”

Hermione grinned. Blaise chuckled. Draco moaned.

With the same teasing slowness from before, Hermione trailed the tips of her fingers from her mouth, over her chin, down her neck, past her throat, down the length of her torso. Her back arched into her touch as she trailed her finger along her body, but she did not pause except to ring her fingertips once around her bellybutton before heading down, down, all the way down to the waiting warmth between her thighs.

“Spread your legs,” Blaise commanded. “I want to see all the way inside you.”

Hermione placed a hand on each thigh and pushed them apart, spreading her legs completely and exposing her pussy to the camera. Draco gasped and had to close his eyes to keep from coming on the spot. Her cunt was covered in neatly trimmed curls, slightly darker than the hair on her head but looking every bit as soft. The positioning of her legs forced the lips to part, showing her inner folds, which were the same deep, dark pink as her nipples and looked diabolically tempting, displayed like a banquet and coated in her arousal. She looked so unbearably wanton, naked and spread and obviously turned on. Her hands on her thighs were shaking (Draco’s were, too) with arousal and the strain of holding back from touching herself. 

“Can you see, love? Can you see all the way inside? Do you see how wet I am? How empty I am? How badly I want to be filled? Can you see all that?”

“Mmm, yes. Wet your fingers inside yourself. One at a time—pinkie first. Slowly, lover. I want to be able to watch every move you make.” 

Hermione nodded her understanding and let her right hand slip down her thigh to her opening. The teasing expression was gone from her face, replaced by a look of concentration and desire as she tried to steady her trembling hand to slip her pinkie finger inside her cunt. 

“Swirl it around a bit, love. I want it nice and wet.” Hermione moaned and arched her hips up, thrusting them against the insufficient pleasure of her thin, short pinkie finger. Draco couldn’t stop himself. His hand dropped of its own accord down to his cock and gripped it, hard—painful enough to put a little more distance between him and the point of no return. He used his other hand to jerk the boxers down his legs so he could kick them off, out of the way. Then he began pleasuring himself with long, tight strokes, careful to keep the rhythm slow to prolong the blissful sensation. He kept his eyes firmly fixed on the rapturous expression on Hermione’s face while he thrust into his hand, feeling his pleasure mounting.

“All right, pull that one out and move on to the next finger.”

The process of slow penetration and careful exploration was continued with her ring finger, then her middle finger (which got an extra-long groan from her upon penetration), and then her index finger. Blaise gave her free reign over her other hand and it played over her body, groping her breasts, teasing her neck, running through her thick, tangled hair and once, in a move that made Draco stop breathing for a full thirty seconds, ghosting teasingly over the crack of her arse. 

Her forehead was beaded with sweat by now, and Draco could see a light sheen of it covering most of her body, reflecting the light of the room off her beautiful skin, spotlighting the bouncing of her breasts, the thrusting of her hips, and the tension in her glorious thighs. Drops of sweat were dripping into Draco’s eyes, as well, dampening his hair and making it stick to his face and the back of his neck. He noticed it only when it obscured his vision, causing him to impatiently brush it away. 

When Hermione started fucking herself with her thumb, her panting breaths turned into gasps. Her feet were planted on the mattress by now, and she was thrusting up against her hand on every stroke with all the strength she had. Draco could tell that she was very, very close. Apparently, Blaise could tell, as well.

“Are all your fingers wet now, Hermione?” he purred.

“Yes!” she gasped, barely able to form the word.

“Are you _sure_?”

“Very…sure…”

Draco could see that it was true. Her fingers were dripping with her juices, thoroughly coated with the fluid that was leaking onto the bedsheet and smearing onto her thighs, making them glisten. She was drenched down there, and her fingers were clearly soaking with it.

“When I tell you to…and not _until_ I tell you to…I want you to stick your first three fingers in your cunt. Do you understand?” Hermione nodded shakily. She was past speech at this point. “Do it now, Hermione.” Hermione let out a bone-jarring moan and started shaking head to toe as she followed Blaise’s instructions.

“Take the index finger and your thumb of your other hand and place them on either side of your clit. Rub them back and forth alongside your clit, without touching it. I’ll be very angry if you touch it.” Hermione sounded almost like she was hyperventilating at this point, and Draco was so close to coming, brightly colored spots were blurring his vision and every muscle in his body was tense. 

“Now pinch your clit. Hard.”

Hermione let out an unearthly scream and seemed to freeze in place with only her head and the soles of her feet making contact with the mattress. The rest of her was arched up at an almost impossible angle as her orgasm hit. The sight of her absolutely undone with pleasure finished it for Draco. His eyes slammed shut in spite of himself and his cock practically exploded in his hand as he rode out the hardest orgasm of his life.

~*~*~*~

“Scourgify.”

Through his euphoric, post-orgasmic glow, Draco heard the word and was, vaguely, amazed that Hermione had recovered from her orgasm so quickly that she was able to say the cleaning charm so calmly. He was, however, far too spent to pay much attention…until he felt the sticky mess covering his hand and his stomach disappear. A cold shiver of dread ran through him as he realized that no spell said on a tape would clean him in the here and now. And that meant… Draco pried open his eyelids hoping against hope that he was mistaken, and felt his stomach drop to the floor as he saw Blaise and Hermione, each wearing nothing but a dressing gown, standing in the entranceway to the living room with their eyes firmly fixed on him.

The afterglow faded abruptly as the situation sunk in. They had…oh dear Merlin, they had seen him masturbate to a sex tape of Hermione. They’d kick him out in the street. They’d never speak to him again. His best friend would hate him, and the woman he adored would be disgusted by him, and he’d never be able to—

“I told you he’d like it,” Blaise stated, smiling smugly at his wife. 

Hermione rolled her eyes. “He’s male, darling. Of course he liked it. If it had been any woman—if it had been a complete stranger, or Ginny Weasley, or _Pansy Parkinson_ —he would have liked it. I still don’t think this tells us anything.”

Draco made a faint choking sound, but neither of the others seemed to notice. 

“Hermione, that’s not true,” Blaise argued. “Back me up here, mate,” he stated, turning to Draco. “You wouldn’t have come like that from watching Parkinson, would you?”

“Nyyyggghh,” Draco choked out, starting to hyperventilate. He had no idea what was going on, but the shock of being caught combined with the thoroughly unpleasant image of Pansy performing in the video instead of Hermione made it difficult for him to breathe.

“Great Gryffindor, he looks like he’s about to pass out!” Hermione exclaimed, seating herself next to Draco on the sofa and placing a warm hand on his bare thigh. “Draco, breathe. Come on, darling, you have to _breathe_ , or you’ll pass out.”

_I’ll pass out anyway,_ Draco thought to himself. _Merlin, woman, don’t touch me and **don’t** call me darling if you want me to remember to breathe._

“I knew this was a bad idea,” Hermione fretted, removing her hand from Draco’s thigh (to his acute disappointment) to twist her hands together in her lap, a nervous habit of hers that Draco recognized from their Hogwarts days. “Look at him; he’s horrified!” she continued. “We should have just asked him. Then, when he said no, we could’ve simply used a memory charm and put the whole thing behind us.”

“If we had asked him then of _course_ he would have said no,” Blaise argued, seating himself on the other side of Draco. “Sweetheart, you know I adore you, but you really are a Gryffindor through and through, aren’t you? Haven’t you learned yet that the direct approach isn’t always the best way?”

Hermione pouted, seemingly forgetting the naked man approaching cardiac arrest next to her. “I am not a ‘Gryffindor through and through,’” she retorted. “I had quite a bit of Slytherin in me less than an hour ago, if you’ll remember.”

“Mmm, yes, you did,” Blaise answered, leaning over Draco to caress Hermione’s thigh. The pouting expression faded instantly as she responded to her husband’s touch.

“My favorite bit of Slytherin,” she conceded, pulling his hand further up her thigh. When Blaise’s hand snaked up to Hermione’s waist and began loosening the tie of her dressing gown, Draco finally exploded.

“Will someone tell me what in Salazar’s name is going on here!”

Blaise looked at Hermione. Hermione looked at Blaise.

“This was your plan,” Hermione insisted. “That means you have to explain it.”

“All right, then,” Blaise stated briskly. “Draco.” He turned to face his best friend. “How do you feel about Hermione?”

“W-w-what?”

“It’s a simple enough question. Do you like her? Hate her? Admire her? _Want_ her?”

Draco struggled for a reply as he squirmed on the couch. “I—I suppose I like her. Yes, I do. I like her. And admire her.”

“You want her, too, don’t you?” Blaise asked, softly.

“Blaise, don’t…” Draco pleaded.

“You want her, Draco. Just admit it.”

“No, please…”

“For the love of Merlin, Draco, watching her touch herself made you come so hard, I thought you were going to black out! Just admit it! You want her!”

“I love her!” Draco roared, jumping to his feet. “Are you happy now? I admitted it! I’m in love with your wife!” Almost as quickly as it had come, Draco’s defiance vanished. “I’m in love with her,” he whispered. “And if you…if you want to take a swing at me, or throw me out of your house, I’ll understand.”

Blaise didn’t move, but Hermione rose to her feet. Draco braced himself for a slap to rival the one she gave him in third year. He knew he deserved it.

Instead, the next thing he knew, her arms had slid up around his neck and her lips were pressed firmly against his. Draco was too shocked to respond. Frankly, he was too shocked to breathe—and his body, already starved for oxygen, became more than a little weak at the knees. He might have fallen to the ground if it hadn’t been for a certain achingly familiar body (with its dressing gown discarded) pressing itself against his back, holding him upright with firm hands on his hips.

Draco was grateful when Hermione pulled her lips off of his. He never would have had the willpower to pull away, himself, and he couldn’t ask any questions while his lips were otherwise engaged. Besides, once she pulled away, she redirected her mouth’s attentions and started doing the most delightful things to his neck. But Draco couldn’t let himself think about that, or about how good it felt, or he’d never be able to form words, much less questions.

“What…oh, yes…what on earth is she doing?” he managed to stammer out.

He could feel the chuckle reverberate through the solid chest pressed against his back. “She’s telling you she loves you back,” Blaise answered. “Wonderful thing about Gryffindors: they believe actions speak louder than words. She’s been a marvelous influence on me,” Blaise continued as his hands stroked Draco’s hips, slipping around to find and caress his re-emerging erection. Draco gasped, thrusting his hips forward into Hermione who purred with pleasure and wriggled against him, making him gasp again.

“We love you, Draco,” Blaise murmured in his ear, tonguing his earlobe in the way that always made Draco shiver. “Let us show you how much?”

“Merlin, yes,” Draco gasped.

“Let’s take this to the bedroom,” Hermione purred, snuggling closer to place another light kiss on his lips then standing on tip toe to briefly kiss Blaise over Draco’s shoulder before pulling away to head down the hall.

“Well?” Blaise asked, pulling away to face Draco. “Shall we join her?”

“Hell yes,” Draco growled, charging down the hallway after her, his pace quickening when he found her dressing gown abandoned in the middle of the hall.

She had already crawled onto the bed by the time he reached the bedroom and was kneeling in the center of it, beckoning him forward when he entered. Breathing shakily, Draco approached, letting her pull him down. He lay on his back as she climbed on top of him, straddling his hips as she placed her hands on either side of his face and lowered herself down for another sweet kiss. This time, Draco didn’t hesitate to respond, burying his hands in her hair and attacking her mouth with a fierce hunger, memorizing every nuance of her taste, and the shape of her mouth, and the feel of her tongue writhing against his. It was heaven. Pure heaven.

And it only got better moments later when another warm mouth joined in the play, tracing along both his and Hermione’s bodies and running warm lips and an even warmer tongue against all the places where their two bodies pressed together. 

“Don’t be greedy, love,” Draco heard Blaise admonish Hermione. “I want a chance to taste him, too.”

Obediently, Hermione pulled her mouth off of Draco’s and began planting wet, nipping kisses down his neck to his chest and abdomen, paying particular attention to the six-inch scar Draco had gotten saving her life. Draco barely had a moment to miss her mouth on his when a large, warm hand turned his face, angling it to meet Blaise’s as the dark-haired wizard pulled him into a deep kiss. He was a better kisser than Draco remembered (not surprising, considering the years of experimentation that had passed since they had last kissed) but he tasted the same, and the familiar flavor sent an extra bolt of lust through Draco’s body. He hadn’t realized just how much he had missed his lover. It felt incredible to be with him again. He still had no idea what was going on, but he had long since decided that he didn’t care, especially when he felt Hermione’s mouth close around his erection. 

Blaise smirked at Draco’s choked moan. “Good at this, isn’t she?” Draco whimpered in reply. Blaise nuzzled Draco’s neck, positioning his lips directly next to Draco’s ear while his hand traced nonsense patterns on Draco’s chest. “If you think her mouth feels good, wait till you feel her cunt close around you when she takes you inside. It’s like climbing into heaven. She likes it a little rough; did you know that? Not harsh, just hard—thrusting into her all the way, so she can feel every inch of you inside her. Makes her scream like a banshee, doesn’t it, lover?” Hermione hummed in response around Draco’s thick length and it felt so good that Draco damn near started crying. He nearly snarled when Blaise wrapped a hand in Hermione’s hair and guided her mouth off of Draco’s cock.

“Best stop that for now, love,” Blaise stated, planting a soft kiss on her nose that made her giggle. “Wouldn’t want this night to end too soon.” Hermione nodded in agreement before lying down next to Draco, cuddling into his side.

“Come here, love,” she whispered, wrapping her arms around Draco and shifting him until his body was on top of hers. For a few, long moments, she simply stroked his face, running her fingers through his silky hair and smiling up at him beatifically. Finally, just when he thought he couldn’t stand it for a moment longer, she pulled his face down for another deliriously satisfying kiss. He was so wrapped up in the feel of her mouth on his that he didn’t notice her hand sliding down his body until he felt her firm grasp close on his erection.

“Hermione!” Draco gasped, trembling in her arms.

“I want you, Draco,” she whispered in his ear. “I’ve wanted you for so long. Come inside me, now. Please, Draco. Come inside me.”

Draco’s head was spinning, and he wondered how it was possible that he hadn’t woken up. Even the best of his dreams didn’t take it this far. 

When she whispered “please” again and guided him to her opening, Draco simply couldn’t hold back anymore. With a single thrust, he buried himself inside her. Every muscle in his body went tense as he fought like he had never fought before to keep from coming immediately. Blaise was wrong; it wasn’t like heaven, it was _better_ than heaven, better than perfection, better than bliss. His most fevered fantasies hadn’t even come close. And it got even better a few moments later when he felt a tentative hand caressing his arse.

“It’s been a long time,” Blaise murmured in his ear. “It’s all right if you don’t want this.”

“I want it,” Draco moaned. “I want you. Both of you. Please, I…please.”

With that reassurance, the hand became less tentative, and a carefully lubricated finger entered Draco. Draco moaned and bucked back against the finger, pulling out of Hermione almost entirely while the finger teased its way inside him, then thrusting forward to re-sheath himself inside her, groaning as she tightened around him. Another finger was added, heightening the sensation, especially when Blaise scissored his fingers, making sure Draco was stretched and ready. When Draco was reduced to babbling pleas, he felt the fingers pull away to be replaced by a thick, blunt shape carefully pushing its way into him.

Hermione’s face was a perfect picture of ecstasy and Draco knew his was as well. They settled into a rhythm that brought all three of them incredible pleasure and moaned in unison as they worked closer and closer to that blinding white bliss they could almost taste. Planting a kiss on Draco’s shoulder blade, Blaise reached a hand around between Draco and Hermione’s writhing bodies to drag a fingernail over Hermione’s clit.

That was all it took.

Hermione’s orgasm crashed over her like a tidal wave, convulsing her internal muscles so tightly around Draco that no force on earth could have kept him from coming. The sight, and sound, and feel of his two lovers climaxing underneath him drove Blaise over the edge as well and the feel of his release deep inside Draco just heightened the blond’s orgasm. 

He couldn’t hold on any longer. _One_ orgasm as intense as the one he had experienced earlier that evening was more than he was used to. Coming _again_ , even _harder_ , less than an hour later was more than his body could take. With a ridiculously happy smile on his face, Draco passed out.

~*~*~*~

Draco had never been a morning person. When he was little, it used to take three house elves working together with an arsenal of bribes, threats, and carefully applied magic to get him out of his bed each morning. The first bit of wandless magic he ever performed had him physically attached to his pillows and blankets, making it impossible for the house elves to remove him. It was something he had never outgrown. Oh, he had, over time, developed enough of an internal clock to know automatically when he needed to wake up if there was anywhere he needed to be or any appointments he needed to keep, but he still fought against waking up, every time.

Never in his life had he fought so hard against waking as he did that morning.

He knew it had just been a dream. It was far from the first time he had dreamed about making love to Hermione. Even the threesome with Blaise was an oft-repeated theme in his nighttime fantasies, especially since Blaise made the offer for Draco to come and stay with them. But last night had been the best dream he had ever had, and all he wanted in the world was to stay asleep. He didn’t want to face the reality where his dreams couldn’t come true. He ignored the sunlight streaming through the window. He ignored the beginning rumblings of his empty stomach. He buried his face in his pillow, and kept his eyes clenched shut, and concentrated on ignoring all the instincts that told him to wake up.

But he couldn’t quite ignore the warm lips that began sucking on his neck.

His eyes flew open and he flipped over in bed so suddenly, he very nearly elbowed Hermione in the face. She giggled at the stunned look on his face.

“Morning, sleepyhead. I didn’t mean to startle you.”

“You…what…you…what were you doing?!?!” Draco yelped.

“Giving you a hickey, from the looks of it,” Blaise responded from his position on the other side of Hermione. “She does that a lot, you know,” he continued, his hand moving lazily over Hermione’s body underneath the sheet, not seeming in any way shocked that his wife had been sucking on his best friend’s neck. “I think she might be part vampire.”

“You’re no better,” Hermione scolded. “Honestly, Draco, you wouldn’t _believe_ some of the places I’ve found bite marks on me.”

“Don’t listen to her,” Blaise insisted. “At least I put my bite marks in places no one will see. What is this fixation you have with necks?”

“Better my neck than some of the places you’ve bitten me!” Hermione squealed in protest, making no move, however, to dislodge Blaise’s exploratory hands from her body. “That time you bit me on my bum, I could barely sit down for three days straight!”

“Yeah,” Blaise replied with a dreamy expression on his face, looking far from repentant. “That was fun.” He winked at Draco. “You should try it sometime. If you thought she screamed last night, you should have heard her then!”

Hermione smacked Blaise’s arm but _still_ made no attempt to remove his hands which were doing something that had Hermione’s hips moving rhythmically against Blaise’s. “Don’t you go giving him any ideas!”

“Not quite sure he’d understand an idea just now even if I gave him one,” Blaise responded, reaching one hand over and snapping it repeatedly in front of Draco’s face. No response. “I think we broke him,” Blaise stage-whispered to Hermione.

“Oh no!” Hermione gasped, the expression on her face genuinely remorseful. “We never explained! You were supposed to _explain_ it to him!”

“And I would have,” Blaise agreed, “if you hadn’t interrupted my explanation by snogging him senseless.”

Hermione blushed, and the tiny part of Draco’s brain that was still actively processing information noted that she looked adorable when she blushed.

“Draco,” Hermione stated softly, squirming out of Blaise’s arms to nestle closer to the blond. “Oh, you poor darling. You must be confused out of your wits. I’m afraid Blaise and I got a wee bit ahead of ourselves last night. I never dreamed it would go this far when we set up that tape for you to watch.”

This penetrated enough to shock Draco out of his stupor. “You _wanted_ me to watch the tape?” he asked, dumbfounded.

“Of course,” Blaise replied. “Why else do you think I spent half an hour showing you how to use the tape player? And why did you think we put a sonorus charm on our bedroom while we shagged so you’d put in a tape to drown out the noise?”

“You _planned_ all of this?” Draco questioned. Blaise and Hermione nodded in unison. “But…” Draco continued. “Why?”

“Best let me answer this one, love.” Hermione interjected. “Draco,” she stated, turning to face the blond wizard again, “I’ve…I’ve had feelings for you for a very long time. Feelings of love. At first, I didn’t want to admit it, even to myself. Even when I acknowledged it, I didn’t think there was any chance that you’d ever feel that way about me, so I tried to ignore how I felt about you. When Blaise and I fell in love, I thought I had finally put all of that behind me.”

“I didn’t tell her about us for a long time,” Blaise stated, picking up the thread of the narrative. “I was afraid she’d be upset at the thought of me being attracted to another wizard, especially since that wizard was you. But about a week before the wedding, we were having a no-holds-barred, all-out soul-baring and we finally spilled to each other about past boyfriends, girlfriends, and lovers. I half-expected her to demand that we call off the wedding when I told her about you. I was shocked when I realized she was turned on by it.”

“I was so relieved,” Hermione confessed. “I was still so attracted to you, and I felt like I was betraying Blaise every time I thought about you. Discovering that he felt the same way that I did changed everything.”

“Once we discovered that we both wanted you,” Blaise continued, “the only thing we had left to figure out was how you felt about us. And that was where we hit a snag.”

“I was positive you’d still want Blaise. After all,” Hermione tilted her head to smile at her husband, “I’ve sampled the goods. Who in their right mind _wouldn’t_ want to keep him in their bed? But I was convinced you didn’t want me. All those years when we were on opposite sides, you did everything you could to make my life miserable. And then, when you joined the Order and we finally stopped with the sniping and bickering, you were polite to me, but so distant. I was certain that you’d be disgusted by the idea of me in your bed.”

“I didn’t know what to think,” Blaise admitted. “I’d never seen you act about _anyone_ the way you acted about Hermione, and I wasn’t sure what it meant. Then, at our wedding, I saw your face when she walked down the aisle—and I knew. You were in love with her, too.” Blaise smirked at Draco. “Good on you being gone for a year, mate. It took me almost the entire time to convince my ‘brave’ Gryffindor to take a chance on inviting you to join us. Of course, we hit another snag deciding just how to tender that invitation.”

“I thought we should just ask you,” Hermione explained. “It seemed simple enough to me. If we invited you into our bed and you said yes, it would mean that you wanted us. If you said no, then we’d know to give up on the idea. But Blaise insisted that just asking you wouldn’t work.”

“I know you, Draco,” Blaise interjected. “Loyal to a fault to the few people you value. Once I realized you were in love with Hermione, the way you behaved around her all fell into place. I knew if we asked you flat out if you wanted either or both of us, you’d deny it, not wanting to do anything to jeopardize our relationship. And once you said no, Hermione would be convinced that you’d never want her, and nothing I did would be able to change her mind. I knew the only way to get you to confess your real feelings was to trap you into a situation where you couldn’t deny them.”

“The video tape was Blaise’s idea,” Hermione concluded. “We actually have a few tapes along similar lines—” Hermione blushed again when she saw the way Draco’s eyes lit up at this piece of information, “—but that one is Blaise’s favorite, and he insisted it would be perfect. The sonorus charm was intended to drive you out of your room. That’s why we didn’t prepare the potion to alter the wards in advance. We couldn’t risk you casting a silencing charm and blocking it out. We knew that without a silencing charm, you’d be able to hear us, even from the living room, so Blaise ensured you knew how to operate the VCR so you could put in a tape to drown us out. We made sure that you’d put in that particular tape and…well…the rest is history.”

“Very Slytherin of you,” Draco commented, somewhat dazedly.

“Thank you,” Blaise replied, beaming proudly.

“So…what now?”

Hermione and Blaise exchanged a look before Hermione stammered out a tentative reply.

“Well, you said that you love me. Right?” she asked nervously.

“Right,” Draco confirmed.

“And I love you, and Blaise loves both of us. Oh, and you love Blaise, don’t you?”

“Yes,” Draco answered, without hesitation. Being with his lover again had been wonderful, and Draco had no intention of letting him go. “And you were thinking I would…what? Move in here?”

“Well…” Blaise stammered. “Yes, actually—that _is_ what we were thinking. After all, you’re practically moved in, already. We’ll just need to move your things from the guest room into here.”

“That will do for the month until the manor is reopened, but what happens then?”

Hermione looked crushed. “You…you don’t want to stay with us after that?”

Draco pulled her into a rough kiss that knocked her doubts out of her mind. “I want to stay with the two of _you_ , I just don’t want to stay _here_. Every time we have an argument, I’d be stuck in that damnable double bed listening to the two of you shag. I require at _least_ a suite of rooms for myself whenever I feel the need to sulk.”

The thought made Hermione giggle, but her expression soon grew serious again. “Draco, you know that Blaise and I can’t afford a place too big. Our salaries are low at the ministry and with most of the Zabini family funds tied up in investments…”

“Malfoy Manor is big enough,” Draco blurted out. “Big enough for all three of us and then some.”

“Are you asking us to move in with you?” Blaise asked.

This time, Draco was the one who blushed, and Hermione and Blaise were the ones who looked on and thought it was adorable. “Well,” Draco stammered, “there _is_ plenty of room, and…and the Aurors are getting rid of lots of things, and—”

“Okay,” Hermione and Blaise said in unison.

“Really? You will?” Draco asked, looking delighted. “I mean,” he cleared his throat and tried to sound more nonchalant, “you will?”

“Yes,” Hermione replied, kissing him lightly. “We will.”

Draco’s eyes brightened. “There won’t be much left in father’s study, you know,” he stated with a sly smile. “The Aurors will have to clean it out almost completely. We could turn it into a…wideo room.”

“Video,” Hermione corrected automatically.

“Whatever. We could get one of those really big screens…” Draco pulled Hermione into his arms and shifted his body on top of hers, “…watch some more of those tapes you told me about…” he leaned over to kiss Blaise slowly and deeply, “… _make_ some more of those tapes…”

“Mmm, why wait?” Hermione moaned.

“Excellent idea,” Draco purred, attaching his mouth to her breast.

“I’ll get the camcorder,” Blaise stated, nipping at the back of Draco’s neck before getting out of bed.

“You know,” Draco stated once Blaise had exited the room, interspersing his words between licks and suckles at her nipple, “I really think I might be developing something of a fondness for muggle home entertainment.”

“Oh, just you wait, love,” Hermione replied with a wicked grin. “We’re just getting started.”

THE END


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